The Wish
by Timbereads
Summary: Cameron's given a strange pendant from a patient, makes a wish in the heat of an argument with House and wakes up the next day with a limp...and a penis? Cameron & House must switch back before they're stuck. If they don't kill each other first.


**A/N: God I shouldn't be starting ANOTHER long fic, but this idea just won't go away and I have some funny stuff planned. This hasn't been beta-ed because I really need to finish my homework so apologies in advance. Please review and let me know if this is worth continuing.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own House blah-blah-blah-David Shore-cakes  
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**The Wish**

**Chapter 1: The Wish**

The annoying squeaking of the marker against the white board was the only sound. Really, what else needed to be heard? All the tension and urgency that came with a two-year-old in a coma was communicated in those short high-pitched screams from the marker. They had less than thirty-six hours to diagnose the girl before her untimely death, and the fact that House was getting increasingly irritable did nothing to alleviate the pressure. Cameron grimaced when he barked a cruel insult at Chase and slammed the marker on the table.

"This is pointless. We've been staring at these symptoms for over an hour. We need a break, House," Foreman sighed. Internally, Cameron agreed, but held her tongue. Her instincts proved correct.

"You will get a _break_," House spat, "when you've proved to me that I didn't make the biggest mistake of my career in hiring you imbeciles."

Foreman glowered and stood. "I'll be back at a quarter past."

"If you walk out that door and you can kiss this job goodbye." It was an empty threat, of course. They all knew Foreman was the most qualified and valuable member of their small team; their boss talked big, but he'd never fire the man who was currently stomping down the hall. House's demeanor only slightly deflated, but Cameron's well-trained eye immediately picked up on his waning strength.

"I think you should sit down," she suggested quietly. His eyes slid to her. "Your leg must be killing you. Let me get you a chair."

"Oh, shut _up_, Cameron! Don't you ever leave me alone? I'm not four; I can get my own chair!" He lowered his voice but the sharpness of his rebuke remained. "God, could you just get over this schoolgirl crush and do your damn job?"

Brows furrowing deeply (how did he always do that to her?), Cameron spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm doing the best I can on three hours of sleep. And I was only trying to help."

"Well, obviously your best kind of sucks. And _don't_."

She almost growled. It wasn't the words that stung so much, although those didn't make her feel great. It was the self-satisfied smirk she wanted to slap off his face. The smirk that said, "Ha ha, I have the power to piss you off." The smirk that turned his face from sexy to sour. Cameron let out one haggard sigh before grabbing her coat and following Foreman's path: out the door.

--

With a steaming cup of coffee from the Starbucks across the street clutched firmly in both hands, Cameron felt a tiny bit better. But only a tiny bit. This wasn't a new occurrence. House had always picked on her more than the others. He just wasn't normally so…vicious. Nonetheless, she decided to suck it up and work that much harder. She wasn't really interested in starting a relationship anymore (she wouldn't refuse some no-strings sex, though). But it was time House saw her as a coworker and not just a little girl to boss around.

The clinic was surprisingly busy for five thirty in the morning. She glanced through the double glass doors and counted at least six people flicking anxiously through magazines. Shrugging, she spun on her heel, intent on getting back to the office. Instead, she slammed into a tottering old woman holding a bloody handkerchief. The crone fell backwards, emitting a soft cry as she landed. The cry quickly turned to hacking coughs and suddenly, blood was pouring out of her mouth. Cameron barely had time to think before adrenaline took over and she was screaming for a crash cart. Kneeling beside her head, the doctor checked her vital signs and found a barely beating heart pulsing beneath her fingers. Rattling breaths shifted the woman's filthy clothing, revealing a pendant made of onyx on a chain far more expensive than anything else Cameron saw on her person.

"Where is my crash cart?!" she shouted into the air, eyes still on the necklace.

"I'm…going to die…yes?" the woman asked slowly, her voice thick with an accent. Eastern-European, Cameron guessed, but she'd always been bad with regions.

"Try not to talk," she said. "We're going to take care of you, don't worry."

The older woman shook her head with some difficulty. Her skin was fast losing color. "No, I will die…I know…things." She lifted a bony hand to her neck and pulled the pendant's chain from around her throat. "Please. Take." She forced the black jewel into her doctor's fist.

"I can't accept-."

"_Take!_" If you can scream with a lowered voice, the woman managed it. "_Promise you take!_"

Cameron was entranced by the woman's piercing silver eyes. Her mouth was wretched and her skin was pockmarked and marred by age…but her eyes seemed to transcend her age, however cliché the phrase may sound. She found herself nodding and fastening the pendant around her neck. Satisfied, the woman let out one more wheeze and died.

The crash cart rolled to Cameron's side.

--

"What took so long?" House demanded of his somewhat shell-shocked female employee. She blinked, sat down in her chair and shook her head.

"A woman died downstairs in the lobby before I could locate the bleed."

He snorted. "Aw. Does ickle Cameron feel depressed now? Do you need a cookie and a shoulder to cry on?"

She slammed a fist on the table and stood up so fast, her chair went flying into the wall. "I know this case is getting to you, but leave me the fuck alone!" she shouted hysterically, letting the stress of the last two days pour out. "Try doing _your _job and _stop_ antagonizing me!"

"Are you seriously yelling at me?" House roared. Chase and the newly returned Foreman watched on fearfully.

"Now you know what it's like!"

"Oh, that's mature!"

By now, the shouting match had brought the two nearly nose to nose. House's cheeks had reddened; Cameron's hands were balled at her sides.

"Don't talk to me about mature," she growled. "I have to be miles more mature than you could possibly imagine to deal with your bullshit."

House snorted. "Somehow, I doubt it."

Cameron looked like she was ready to put her foot –or House's head– through a wall. "For once, I just…I just wish you could know what it's like to be me!"

Chase decided, at that moment, to step in before someone threw a punch. "Guys, can we please focus on the dying kid?" House broke eye contact first, turning back to the whiteboard and snubbing his immunologist with his robotic body language. She sank back into her chair, arms folded.

The differential continued.

No one noticed that, underneath the collars of her lab coat and white Oxford blouse, the black onyx was glowing fiercely on its chain.

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**To Be Continued...**


End file.
